


Dreams That You Dare to Dream Really Do Come True

by Drarrelie



Series: Dreams Come True Cycle [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Blow Jobs, Consent, Dom Harry Potter, Don't copy to another site, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Fanart Welcome, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter's Birthday, Internalised Kink Shame, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Harry Potter, Podfic Welcome, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Draco Malfoy, Praise Kink, Secret use of sex toys in public, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Sexual Fantasy, Sub Draco Malfoy, The Burrow (Harry Potter), Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie/pseuds/Drarrelie
Summary: Today, Draco’s new boyfriend turns nineteen and the annoying tosser has refused to present a wish list. It’s not Draco’s fault if he felt compelled to get a little creative, right?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Dreams Come True Cycle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856923
Comments: 26
Kudos: 338
Collections: A Very Harry Birthday!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can you believe Harry is actually turning 40 today? Me neither.
> 
> Anyhow, I wanted to celebrate Harry’s birthday with this fic that has been brewing in the back of my mind for well over six months now. Being the sequel to my very first fic, it’s naturally very dear to me, and I do hope you’ll like these adorable boys just as much as I do.
> 
> I’m fairly sure this fic can be read as a stand-alone, but if you haven’t read When All Your Dreams Come True yet (the fluffiest M/M/M PWP in existence, I believe) and are contemplating reading it, you should probably do that first since this fic would otherwise spoil the plot in that one.
> 
> Beta love! Thank you for always being there for me in my time of need. [SighNoMore](/users/adavison/pseuds/SighNoMore) and [LapindelaLune](/users/LapindelaLune), you have both been with me from the very beginning when I took my first shaky steps into the Drarry fandom as a writer. [EvAEleanor](/users/EvAEleanor), you came into my life at a later point but have quickly become one of my dearest friends in the fandom. Thank you all for all the encouragement and support a writer could ever wish for. As always, you’ve done a brilliant job and I have only myself to blame for any remaining mistakes.
> 
> English is not my native language so please be kind if you find any errors I've missed. That said, I’ll appreciate any feedback you’re willing to give me — kudos, comments and recommendations are my primary life sources.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to — and are reverently borrowed from — JKR and associated publishers. The title is borrowed from the _The Wizard of Oz_ movie song ["Over the Rainbow", best interpreted by Eva Cassidy](https://spoti.fi/39PQJUU) (imo).

* * *

_9.33 am_

* * *

“Oh, fuck, Draco… So good… So—”

Draco moans around Harry’s cock, the vibrations sending tendrils of pure pleasure through Harry’s body. Harry fights the urge to bury his fists in Draco’s hair and thrust deeper into Draco’s glorious throat, instead clutching the sheets desperately as the man hollows his cheeks and swallows him down.

“Fuck, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” Harry keens as Draco’s long, nimble fingers and hot, wet mouth brings him over the precipice.

 _Merlin_.

Of all the ways to wake up… Not even ten minutes ago, Harry was asleep, and now he’s lying on his back, panting, blinking the spots from his vision as Draco crawls up to place a spunk-flavoured kiss on his parted lips.

“Good morning,” Draco murmurs against Harry’s stubbled jaw, “and happy birthday.”

He sounds so smug, so pleased with himself Harry’s most tempted to roll him over and ravish him, to put him in his place. Too bad Harry’s limbs have just been put out of service. Instead, Harry lifts his head that final inch needed to take Draco’s earlobe between his teeth and suck, hard.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he mumbles, flicking the lobe playfully with his tongue. “I’m sensing no other present I’m going to get today will be able to top what you just gave me.”

Draco chuckles. “I’m sensing you’re wrong.”

Rolling off Harry to land next to him on his side, Draco props up his head with his hand and looks down at his boyfriend with a mischievous smirk.

“You…?” Harry frowns. “But… I told you not to buy me anything?”

“You actually thought I wouldn’t get you a gift?” Draco scoffs, incredulous, and arches an elegant brow. “After what you gave to me on my birthday?”

“I—” Harry can’t suppress the flush rising on his cheeks at the memory. That had been an exceptionally good gift, he must concede. Mostly, thanks to Blaise. It had been his idea, after all, and Harry still thinks of it as the best night of his life. A fresh bout of arousal stirs in the pit of his stomach and Harry hastens to quell it best he can. “So, what did you get me?”

“Impatient much?” Draco says, warm grey eyes dancing. “Tell you what, since my gift is intended as a part of today’s attire, you’ll get it soon enough. Let’s shower first, though. Maybe you could do something about this?”

Harry gasps as the hot, hard length of his boyfriend’s cock brushes against his hip. “Yeah?”

Shower sex can be uncomfortable at times — cold, hard tiles; slippery floor; soap in your eyes — but lately Harry’s found it can also be incredibly hot. He reaches up to curl his hand around the nape of Draco’s neck, pulling him in for a deep, languorous kiss. He still tastes of Harry, and the mere notion of why causes a feral growl to escape Harry’s throat.

Draco bucks against him, pressing him deeper into the mattress and moaning as Harry grabs his arse and squeezes it eagerly. His other hand is in Draco’s hair, raking through his soft, blond locks, tugging on it hard enough for Draco to break their kiss and lift his head, seeking out Harry’s dazed gaze with eyes darkened from arousal.

“Shower,” Harry murmurs.

“Shower,” Draco agrees, clenching his jaw, determined.

* * *

_11.05 am_

* * *

Harry doesn’t let go of his boyfriend’s hand after the Side-Along Apparition. Instead, he shifts his hold to lace their fingers together before giving a light squeeze.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” Draco says, rolling his eyes.”Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”

Harry can feel the tension in Draco’s arm, can see his shoulders and jaw stiffening, but he decides to trust his boyfriend’s words.

“If you say so.”

Smiling, Harry places a light kiss on Draco’s lips. Draco’s returning smile is warm and sweet, if a little wobbly, and his silver-grey eyes are intense and hopeful. Something delicious stirs in the pit of Harry’s stomach, something he does his best to ignore as they walk together, hand in hand, up the gravel path to the front door.

It’s not the first time Draco’s been to the Burrow, they’ve come here several times over the summer. But today’s different. Today’s Harry’s birthday, which means everyone will be here. Everyone. And even if Draco’s become quite used to interacting with Ron and Hermione — and even Molly and Arthur to some extent after he and Harry got together — he’s never before had to endure this many Weasleys (born, in-law, and honorary) at once. Harry knows perfectly well how overwhelming it can be if you’re not used to it, and he can’t even imagine what it must feel like for Draco who’s lived most of his life under the influence of his father’s bigoted views, writing off the whole family as abominable blood-traitors and a disgrace to pure-blood wizards everywhere.

Of course, Draco has made amends, and combined with Harry’s endorsement earlier in the year it seems to have been enough for the family to welcome him into their home, albeit a bit reluctantly at first. When Harry had sat down with his adoptive parents about a month ago and told them about his and Draco’s relationship, their surprise had actually been mingled with more delight than disappointment. Apparently, they’d already noticed his newfound happiness and had only been waiting for him to fill them in on the cause of it. And as for the disappointment, from what Harry had been able to discern, it had been more to do with him not getting back together with Ginny than him hooking up with the heir of their family’s centuries-long foe.

But even if Draco doesn’t have to worry about hateful accusations, malicious hexes, or disdainful sneers today, Harry’s quite sure a Burrow-full of boisterous Weasleys and assorted friends and spouses doesn’t really compare to anything Draco’s ever experienced before. No wonder he’d be nervous, even without the added tension of—

“There you are,” Molly bursts before the door is even fully open, wrapping Harry in a crushing hug that makes him feel like a long-lost son who’s finally returned after years apart. “Happy birthday, Harry dear!”

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles abashed and pats her lightly on her back. It’s just a few days since his last visit, but it never seems to matter much to Molly; any time apart, be it a day, a week, or a year, will grant you the same treatment. Harry’s used to it by now.

“And Draco…”

Draco, however, isn’t, and the slightly panicked expression in his eyes every time he’s enveloped in Molly Weasley’s strong arms is truly a sight to behold.

“…how lovely to see you, my boy.”

Draco mutters something into silver-streaked curls of ginger hair and Harry grins, silently reassuring Draco by placing a light palm at the small of his back.

Molly catches Harry’s eyes over Draco’s shoulder. “I was starting to worry something had happened to you when you didn’t show up, but Arthur said…”

“Harry!” As if summoned by the mention of his name, Arthur appears in the hallway behind his wife. “See, I told you they’d show up before you knew it, didn’t I sweetheart?” he says to Molly as he walks up to her and squeezes her shoulder. “Now, why don’t you let these two gentlemen in before they think they’re not welcome?”

“Oh, of course,” Molly frets, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” She backs up against the wall to let Harry and Draco enter the hallway before closing the door behind them.

“No reason to apologise,” Harry assures her before turning to Arthur and surrendering himself to another giant bear hug. “How’s the model railway coming along?”

“Splendidly,” Arthur booms right next to Harry’s ear, before drawing back from the hug. His hands linger on Harry’s shoulders, and Harry can almost hear the _I can’t believe you’re all grown up_ emanating from the man’s bright blue eyes. “I just got hold of a new turnout the other day and I tried to figure out how to connect it to the rest, but… You don’t think you could—?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have a look at it later if you want,” Harry grins. He can’t even remember the last time he visited the Burrow without being invited to the shed to inspect and discuss some Muggle paraphernalia or other.

Molly excuses herself to the kitchen and Harry has half a mind to follow her and offer a helping hand. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he lingers in the hall while Draco shakes hands with Arthur, intent on not letting his boyfriend face the rest of the Weasley clan without Harry by his side.

Arthur ushers them through the house and out the back where everyone seems to be enjoying themselves in the sun. The people spread out on the lawn are mostly chatting and smiling, but above them several others are whizzing around on brooms, cheering at each other's stunts and laughing whenever someone falls for their feints.

“We’re still waiting for Andromeda and little Teddy,” Arthur says. “She promised they’ll be here before the feast and until then… Harry’s here!” he adds, loud enough for everyone to notice even without a Sonorous.

The garden erupts in a flurry of cheers and hugs and smiles and well-wishes. The friends who’ve been on the ground — Hermione, Luna, and Neville — are the first to reach them, but soon enough the fliers swoop down too, leaving their brooms haphazardly on the grass as they hurry over to greet the birthday boy and his boyfriend.

Draco looks a little overwhelmed at first but seems to calm down somewhat as Blaise appears beside him and whispers something that makes his friend laugh. For a brief moment, Harry catches a sting of jealousy in his chest, but he knows it’s irrational and does his best to ignore it. Blaise and Draco have been friends since long before Hogwarts, and even if they used to be lovers, Harry knows it was only casual and that there’s no reason to worry. Besides, Harry’s the one who invited Blaise to the party, figuring having a friendly face around would help Draco get through the day.

They’re both easily persuaded into a three-a-side pick-up game of Quidditch, soon finding themselves Seekers and captains of one team each. And against them, Charlie is picked to fly Seeker for the third team. Charlie used to be a brilliant Seeker once — good enough he could have played for the national team if he’d wanted to, at least according to Oliver Wood — and even though he hasn’t played in several years, his natural talent doesn’t seem to have abandoned him during his time in Romania.

Charlie captains the Weasley team, with Ginny as Chaser and George as Beater. Harry is teamed up with Dean and Seamus, and while Dean is a fair enough Chaser, he’s no match against Ginny. Or Fleur, it turns out, who is picked as Chaser for Draco’s team along with Blaise. Apparently, she still holds the Beauxbatons record for most points scored in a single match, Bill boasts about his wife. Who knew?

While Harry fights Draco and Charlie for the Snitch, Fleur, Dean, and Ginny, give Ron a good run for his Galleons where he’s positioned to guard the goalposts against all three teams. And even if there’s only one Bludger in play, with three Beaters around, that unforgiving fucker seems to be everywhere at once.

Soon, Harry is enjoying himself enough to almost forget… until his eye catches the silver band around Draco’s wrist glinting in the sun.

 _Fuck_.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

_10.12 am_

* * *

“So…” Draco says hesitantly once they’re back from the bathroom. “Do you remember what you said when I asked what you wanted for your birthday?”

Harry stops his search for underwear and turns from the dresser to look at his boyfriend. Draco’s standing right next to the bed, a light blue towel around his waist and a rectangular box in his hands. Harry notices his flitting gaze, the faint blush on his cheeks, and the way he fidgets with the cream-coloured bow on the box. Draco’s nervous, and Harry is intrigued.

Intrigued and inattentive.

“Huh?”

Draco rolls his eyes at Harry’s confused frown. “When I asked you about your fantasies? Do you remember what you said?”

Harry is aware of the circumstances that had led to the two of them getting together, how Draco and Blaise had exchanged fantasy realisations for their respective birthdays, and how Harry — to his own amazement — had been a secret part of Draco’s fantasy. When Draco had mustered up the courage to ask him about his own fantasies, though, Harry hadn’t been able to give voice to any of those weird urges buried deep within. And why would he? They have a perfectly satisfying sex life as it is. Why risk it? What if Harry suggested something Draco didn’t want? What if Draco thought him perverted or disgusting? What if Draco thought Harry was discontent with what they already have? No, definitely not worth it.

“Er… I— I said I only want you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Draco offers a rare sweet smile and sits down on the edge of the bed, patting the duvet next to him in a silent request for Harry to join him. Harry does, of course, even more intrigued now. He tries to recall mentioning anything he’d want that would fit into the box Draco is holding, but draws a blank. And if Draco’s found a way to fit himself into that box— Harry gulps and promptly stops that train of thought in its tracks. _Too late_ , his brain singsongs and readily supplies a vivid image of just what part of Draco’s gorgeous body would fit rather perfectly inside that box if it ever were to be replicated.

Thankfully, Draco speaks just then, managing to distract Harry from his perverted thoughts.

“Well, since you didn’t give me much to go on…” he says, biting his lip for a brief moment before presenting the gift to Harry. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.”

The indention from Draco’s teeth on his pink bottom lip is almost as mesmerising as the faint rosy hue spreading over his high cheekbones. It’s not until Draco raises a brow and gestures impatiently towards the box in Harry’s hands that he manages to tear his eyes away. The purple wrapping is rich and smooth under Harry’s fingers, and combined with the broad silk ribbon it’s easily the most luxurious-looking present he’s ever gotten. It's so perfect, Harry’s reluctant to unwrap it.

He does, though — knowing Draco wouldn’t let him save it for later — revealing an elegant black box with a silver clasp on the front and a triple M logo embossed in silver on the lid. The logo looks vaguely familiar, but Harry can’t for the life of him remember where he’s seen it before. Frowning, he unfastens the clasp and lifts the lid, frowning even more as he looks down at five thin silver bands. They remind him of the many rattling bangles Professor Trelawney usually wears around her wrists, and they gleam in the sunlight where they stand in a neat row, partly submerged in individual slots cut out in the black velvety material. On either side of the bands is a Galleon-sized silver plate engraved with one word each — ‘User’ and ‘Wearer’ — in a graceful cursive.

“What…?” Harry lifts his gaze to ask his boyfriend, only to find all words leaving him at the sight of Draco’s grey eyes, warm and bright and dark.

“Place your thumb on the plate,” he says, nodding to the box. There’s a slight tremble to his husky voice, similar to the tremble showing on Harry’s hand as it hesitates a few inches over the shiny silver disks. ‘ _User’ or ‘Wearer’?_ “The left one,” Draco adds as if reading Harry’s thoughts.

Warily, Harry lays the pad of his thumb against the plate marked ‘User’.

_“Congrat—”_

Harry jumps at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, startled enough to nearly drop the box on the floor. Draco’s Seeker reflexes catches it, though, replacing it in Harry’s lap with an amused chuckle.

“Relax, honey. It’s just the instructions wizard.”

“You could have warned me,” Harry scowls, willing his racing heart to slow down.

“And miss out on all this fun?” Draco winks with an impish grin that promptly vanishes all traces of Harry’s irritation, then bumps Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Go on, then.”

“Impatient much?” Harry snickers. “You’d almost think it was your gift.”

A pale brow arches elegantly above grey eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe it feels like it is…”

Harry doesn’t quite know what to do with that statement, so he opts for an eye-roll and an exasperated head-shake before returning his focus to the box in his lap.

_“—ulations on your new naughty plaything; The Invisible Touch.”_

“What—?” Harry gulps, feeling his eyes go wide.

 _A sex toy?_ A trickle of dread runs down his spine, only to fizz wildly as it meets the simmering pool of arousal in the pit of his stomach. _No, it can’t be_. They’ve never had any need for any toys to satisfy each other before. Why would Draco… No, surely it’s just Harry’s perverted mind jumping to conclusions again.

Draco merely shushes him, placing a reassuring palm on the small of Harry’s bare back.

 _“With The Invisible Touch, you can look forward to a lifetime of thrill and excitement. No matter whether you’re the user or the wearer, The Invisible Touch is designed to give you a highly pleasurable and satisfying time.”_ Fuck. It _does_ sound like a sex toy. _“And together with our everlasting guarantee, MMM assures your life will never be boring again.”_

Harry chances a glance in Draco’s direction, smirking. As if a life with Draco Malfoy would ever risk getting boring. He’s about to say as much, but is interrupted as the voice continues.

_“With the right word from the right lips, The Invisible Touch will simulate the sensation of genuine physical touch anywhere on the wearer’s body. Just choose the intensity and the trigger word, and The Invisible Touch will take care of the rest.”_

_Oh, dear Merlin_.

_“All MMM products are designed for safe and consented play, so let’s start there. May the person who’ll be wearing The Invisible Touch place their thumb on the ‘Wearer’ disk, please?”_

Harry makes a move to do just that, but Draco whisks his hand away and promptly lays his own thumb on the silver plate closest to him. Harry looks up to ask his boyfriend what the hell he’s doing, hesitating as he notices Draco’s bottom lip once more caught between his teeth. Draco’s eyes are fixed on the contents of the box and Harry can but follow his gaze and wait for the instructions wizard to continue.

_“Are you a willing and consenting participant in this session?”_

“Yes,” Draco states.

The total lack of hesitation goes straight to Harry’s cock. It doesn’t matter that Harry still has no clue what’s going on; Draco is ready and willing to submit to… whatever this is, and Harry had no idea he’d be so aroused at the mere thought of it.

 _“As a security precaution, you will soon be requested to choose a safeword for this session. This safeword can be uttered by you at any time and will immediately cease any and all activity until The Invisible Touch is reset for another session. Please state your chosen safeword in the following sentence: Use_ —” A soft chime sounds. “— _as the safeword.”_

“Use ‘Hippogriff’ as the safeword,” Draco says, loud and clear and without preamble.

 _“Safeword set,”_ says the voice, just as Harry bursts into a bout of laughter severe enough to almost make him lose his grip on the box again. “Hippogriff? Seriously?”

“Why not?” Draco snaps, whacking Harry’s shoulder. Harry manages to stay upright, though, and turns tear-blurry eyes towards his boyfriend. Draco is clearly fighting the urge to smile, attempting a scowl that’s not nearly potent enough to reach his dancing eyes. “It’s _supposed_ to be a word I wouldn’t normally use in conversation, you insufferable twat.”

“Well, then,” Harry wheezes, trying to regain his wits, “Good choice.”

“I thought so,” Draco mutters. “Now, can we move on? Or do you want us to be late to the Burrow?”

“Oh. No, I don’t… I mean…”

 _Oh Merlin_. Harry had forgotten all about the Burrow.

He takes a couple of deep, calming breaths before placing his thumb back on his shiny disk, watching Draco doing the same at the other end of the box.

 _“The Invisible Touch consists of five bands to be worn during the session; two around your ankles, two around your wrists, and one around the base of your cock.”_ Harry swallows, feeling his own cock twitch at the thought of these five silver bands tightly wrapped around various parts of Draco’s beautiful body. _“Whenever you’re ready. I’ll wait till you’re all set.”_

Draco moves for the shiny bands, and Harry catches his wrist just before Draco manages to touch them.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Harry blurts, incredulous. His voice is strained and high-pitched, his eyebrows lost somewhere high behind the still damp locks of his unruly fringe.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Draco counters.

“But…? We’re supposed to leave in less than half an hour…”

“…which is why I don’t understand why you’re stalling,” Draco adds. “Scared, Potter?”

“No, I’m not _‘scared’_ ,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I’m just…” His head is spinning, desperately trying to figure out what Draco’s thinki— _Fuck_. “You’re not seriously planning on wearing these at the party? Surrounded by all my friends and family?”

“What if I am?” Draco says, determined. His angular jaw is set, his eyes hard as steel as they meet Harry’s, hard and dark and blazing with…

...lust?

Oh.

_Oh._

_Fuck._

_Oh good Godric, Draco’s fucking insane._


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

_12.42 pm_

* * *

“So, what are your plans for the future, Harry?” Andromeda asks while she steers Teddy away from the drinks table for what must be the seventh time. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

They arrived about an hour into the game, and since then Harry has opened a veritable mountain of presents and gulped down several glasses of Molly’s homemade lemonade. Most of the guests are sprawled out on the lawn, enjoying the sun and joking around. Harry and Draco have joined Andromeda and some of the others under the canopy near the patio, saving Draco’s delicate skin from the unforgiving rays.

“I don’t really know,” Harry says. He’s still busy getting used to the fact that he survived the war, still trying to comprehend that he has been allowed to grow up.

“Didn’t you want to become an Auror?” Bill asks.

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry shrugs, “but I was like fourteen at the time and still thought it’d be cool fighting evil on the daily. A lot has happened since then.”

Under the table, Harry’s hand seeks out Draco’s leg, moving gently over a bony knee before coming to rest on his thigh. A lot has happened, indeed. Harry can feel Draco glancing at him from the corner of his eye but keeps his attention on the conversation.

“But you must have some ideas, right? What do you want to do?”

“Well, I want to help people. Healing maybe, or teaching. Helping Muggle-borns and their parents navigate the wizarding world. Anything, really.”

“That sounds like an honourable aspiration,” Andromeda says, smiling, but Harry doesn’t register her words because Draco’s thigh has stiffened under his palm.

“What?” he mumbles under his breath, glancing over at his boyfriend. Draco is biting his lip, meeting Harry’s gaze with dark heavy-lidded eyes. _Oh_. Harry winces and mouths “I’m sorry”, but Draco just gives him a minute shake of his head and smirks.

And he looks so smug, Harry wants to kiss that smirk away. Hell, he wants to do a lot more than that, but it’ll have to wait. Even if Draco turns out to be a closeted exhibitionist, Harry doubts the rest of the party is secret voyeurs.

“I still can’t believe you’d want to… here… today…” Harry whispers in Draco’s ear. “You’re insane.”

“Well,” Draco whispers back, placing his hand on top of Harry’s on his thigh. “I thought it might keep me distracted enough to behave in a house full of annoying redheads.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry bumps Draco’s shoulder with his own. “They’re my family, you know.”

“Yes, I know. As if you wouldn’t welcome a similar distraction the next time we’re invited to the Manor?” Draco winks and Harry’s bones melt to butter.

 _Oh, fuck_.

The prospect of another Sunday dinner with the Malfoys suddenly sounds strangely appealing. Draco turns back to the conversation as if nothing’s happened and Harry tries to do the same. However, distracted as he is by the idea of Draco wearing The Invisible Touch in the presence of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, he ends up nodding and smiling without really listening.

Harry is grateful when Arthur eventually comes by, eager to borrow Harry for a visit to the shed before the feast is served.

“You wanna join?” Harry asks his boyfriend.

“Nah,” Draco says, looking around. “I think I’m going to go make sure Blaise isn’t making a fool of himself.”

Harry follows his gaze, finding a grinning Blaise silently nodding along with an animated conversation between George and Charlie.

“Yeah, seems like a good idea.” Harry leans in and gives his boyfriend a kiss. “See you in a bit. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Harry winks and savours the thrill of excitement rushing through him as Draco shudders and fights to hold back a groan.

Draco might be insane, but Harry’s never loved him more.

* * *

_10.38 am_

* * *

“You sure about this?” Harry can’t help asking. “What if—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Draco sighs, shifting on the mattress as he turns to face Harry with a serious expression. “I want this, Harry, and I think you do, too.”

“I—” Harry turns towards him, feeling his cheeks flush. “Yes. Yes, I do. But… at the Burrow? Really?”

“Well, yes.” Draco shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Oh, come on, don’t be a coward. Where’s that renowned Gryffindor courage of yours?”

“I’m not a coward,” Harry says defiantly, pushing down the eager tendrils of panic reaching for his lungs. He knows he’s been baited, but that’s neither here nor there. No one’s allowed to call him a coward, least of all a snake like Draco. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not rushing into this without thinking.”

“Yeah, because that’s something I’m prone to do?” Draco laughs, and Harry joins in as soon as he’s replayed his own words in his mind and realised what he just said.

“Okay, you win,” he concedes, instantly regretting his choice of words as he watches Draco’s face transform into a triumphant grin. A minute twitch at the corner of Draco’s eye tells Harry there’s a taunting remark forming on the tip of his boyfriend’s tongue, and he hastens to move on. “At least let me,” he says, reaching for the box and picking up one of the slim silver bands.

It’s perfectly round, solid as regular silver, and completely weightless. Its cool surface warms at his touch, welcoming his curiosity as he turns it in his hands, attracting the rays of sunshine coming in through the window and sending their reflections on the walls around them. Draco’s hand appears in Harry’s line of vision, but it doesn’t grab for the band as Harry expects it to. Instead, it just hovers there over Harry’s lap, until Harry’s brain connects the dots.

_Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. This is crazy. I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. Fuck._

The silent mantra runs on repeat in Harry’s mind as he threads the band over Draco’s hand. The band expands of its own volition, readily adjusting to the breadth of the hand as it passes, and contracts just as easily once it encircles Draco’s wrist, fitting snugly against every soft curve and jutting bone.

Draco lifts his arm, twisting it this way and that, inspecting the band with a studious look.

“How does it feel?” Harry’s dying to know.

“It doesn’t,” Draco says, frowning. “I can’t feel it at all. It’s most peculiar.”

“Maybe it’s faulty,” Harry says, strangely disappointed by the thought.

“No, I don’t think so.” Draco looks up, giving Harry an encouraging smile. “Come on, then. Don’t be scared, Potter.”

“I’m not—”

Harry notices the smugness curving Draco’s lips into a smirk and stops mid-sentence. Sometimes, dating a Slytherin is a study in self-restraint. 

Without another word, Harry secures the rest of the bands on Draco’s body according to the instructions, getting on his knees on the floor to reach Draco’s ankles. He’s sorely tempted to abandon his mission as Draco pushes down his boxers to help Harry fasten the last one. Draco’s half-hard cock is suddenly bobbing right in front of him, the rosy head glistening with pre-come, and Harry wants to devour it, to lick, suck, and swallow until Draco comes deep down his throat.

He doesn’t, though. He has no idea where his restraint is coming from, but he revels in it, feeling a sharp spark of excitement bloom in his core as he watches the band close in around the base of Draco’s cock. With a soft lick, Harry captures the bead of pre-come pooling at the slit, eliciting a gasp from his boyfriend before pulling his pants back up, covering his rapidly swelling cock. Catching Draco’s gaze, he leans in and places a hot open-mouthed kiss on the shaft, lapping gently at the soft silk as he takes in the feverish look in those dark grey eyes.

 _“User, now it’s your turn. You will soon be requested to choose a trigger word for this session. This trigger, uttered by you at any time and how often you please, will immediately produce a sensation of touch somewhere on the wearer’s body. Please state your chosen trigger word in the following sentence: Use_ —“ The chime sounds again. “— _as the trigger word.”_

Harry’s mind goes blank, unable to come up with a single word that could pass as a fitting trigger word for what they’re about to do. Just the thought of controlling Draco’s body like this, of owning him so completely, it’s— _Merlin_. Just one single word, charged with the potency of countless caresses. One word, able to drive his boyfriend to the brink. From a distance. In public.

 _Fuck_.

Harry can’t remember ever being this turned on before. In the two months they’ve been together, edging has become one of Harry’s favourite pastimes. It’s just the perfect combination of torture and pleasure, and despite the inventive stream of insults and curses it tends to draw from Draco, Harry’s always suspected the man secretly likes it.

Gryffindors aren’t particularly well-known for their self-restraint, though, and despite anything the Sorting Hat ever had to say, Harry is a lion through and through. No matter how much he’d like to keep edging Draco for days on end, sooner or later Harry’s resolve is effectively undermined by Draco’s every pained sound and writhing movement. And driven wild with want and desire, Harry usually allows Draco to come long before he’d intended to.

But if he were capable to do it without actually touching him, without even undressing him… _Fuck_.

“Earth to Harry?”

“Huh?” Harry blinks, dazed by the filthy thoughts running amok in his head. When focus is restored to his eyes, Draco is looking at him smugly.

“Where did you go just now?” he says with a wry smile.

“I… I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, knowing full well that Draco doesn’t believe him, that he probably knows exactly where Harry’s thoughts ventured off. Draco has this uncanny ability to always read Harry like an open book, sans Legilimency. It’s annoying, really.

The head-shake is meant to look exasperated, but together with the fondness glowing in Draco’s warm eyes, Harry doesn’t mind his boyfriend’s antics much.

“Well, come on then, Harry. We’re already running late for your party, so would you pick a trigger word already?”

“Right. I just…” Harry frowns, making an honest effort to come up with something suitable, but… “I have no idea…”

“Salazar, Harry. You’re hopeless.”

“I’m not hopeless. I have plenty of hope, if you must know…”

“Ahhh…” Draco falls back against the mattress in a most dramatic gesture, complete with an audible sigh and an excessive eye-roll, landing with a thud with the back of a hand slung over his forehead. “Just bloody choose something, will you?” he groans towards the ceiling. “Anything.”

Harry laughs. “Surely, I can’t just use anything as the trigger word. Now, that’d—”

_“Trigger set.”_

“What? Wait, that’s not—”

_“This deluxe version of The Invisible Touch offers five intensity levels…_

“Fuck, Potter. You’re such an idiot.”

_“…and an additional eight touch mode commands to further enrich your experience…”_


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

_15.24 pm_

* * *

‘Anything’ is the most brilliant trigger word, Harry’s found. It can be used in almost any sentence and is innocent enough not to cause suspicion among the rest of the guests. He’s tried it out several more times after he and Arthur came back from their detour to the shed, and watching Draco trying to suppress his reactions might just be the hottest thing Harry’s ever witnessed. By now, his boyfriend is constantly on edge, ready for another stroke of invisible hands every time Harry opens his mouth, but no matter how hard he tries, he’s not able to hide the arousal blazing in his eyes whenever it happens.

Since they’ve never done anything like this before, and none of them really knows what to expect, they agreed on the lowest intensity level, _Quill_. ( _’For a featherlight touch,’_ the instructions wizard said.) Draco gave Harry permission to choose any level he’d like, a tremendous show of trust if there ever was any, but even though Harry wouldn’t mind trying out the _Pygmy Puff_ or _Dragonhide_ levels someday, he’s quite sure he’d never want to subject his boyfriend to invisible touches the intensity of _Devil’s Snare_ or _Apparition_.

He shudders at the mere thought of it, glancing across the table at Draco who’s wrapped up in conversation with Charlie about Swedish Short-Snouts and whether they’re more or less easily tamed compared to Chinese Fireballs. He looks so vibrant, so irresistible that Harry is sorely tempted to reach over the table and ravage the man. He knows some partners like playing with pain in the bedroom, but he has no interest in hurting Draco in any way, even if Draco would allow him to. He’s just too precious, too perfect to ever come to any harm as long as Harry has anything to say about it.

Quills are not known for causing pain, though.

“How’s that competition case coming along?“ Harry asks George. “Have you heard anything from the Ministry yet?”

Not that he’s not interested in the upcoming expansion of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, but also… George happens to sit next to Draco across the table, and Harry has discovered the man is at the perfect angle for Harry to talk to while still keeping Draco in his peripheral vision.

At the mention of the trigger word, Draco pauses mid-sentence, closing his eyes for a brief second while drawing in a ragged breath. Harry fights the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and tries to ignore the excited twitch in his trousers.

George glances between Harry and Draco, his eyebrow asking _‘What?’_ as his mouth answers Harry’s question. “No, so far I’ve only gotten the standard reply of _‘we’ve received your application and will get back to you momentarily’_.”

“And when was that?”

George shrugs. “About four months ago.”

“Merlin, that place really needs to look into their procedures,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do, all right?”

“Sure, thanks.” Harry recognises the intrigue twinkling in those bright blue eyes, suggesting he must have noticed Draco tensing up beside him again. Thankfully, George doesn’t address it. Instead, he chooses to jump into the dragon conversation without missing a beat. “How about the Ridgeback, then?”

Blaise leans in on Harry’s other side, whispering, “What’s that all about, with the Ministry?”

“They’re hoping to be able to take over Zonko’s in Hogsmeade,” Harry explains. “They’re just waiting for approval from the Ministry since someone has been questioning their possible monopoly status.”

“Ah.” Harry senses the slight tension in the air between them saying the man has something more on his mind. Shifting slightly to get a better look at him, Harry seems to bring Blaise back to the present. “Is it true that he comes up with all WWW inventions on his own?”

“Most of them, yeah,” Harry says with a shrug. “It happens that others pitch product ideas to him on occasion, but he’s usually the one who figures out how to make those ideas reality.”

“Wicked,” Blaise says, and Harry doesn’t think he imagines the hint of awe in his voice.

Harry turns to look at George, pride glowing in his chest for the man who, despite the loss of his brother barely a year ago, has managed to win the hearts of the British wizarding population through jokes, smiles, and laughter.

The dragon discussion is interrupted as Bill asks Draco to pass the salt. When he does, reaching over the table in front of George, Harry catches sight of George’s eyes widening. He follows George’s gaze, his heart skipping a beat at the realisation that the man has noticed the silver band encircling Draco’s wrist.

Harry swallows, braving a look at his amused smirk, his twinkling eyes, his waggling brows. _Fuck_. _Fucking brilliant_. Of _course_ George, of all people, would be able to recognise it. _Of-fucking-course_. Mortified, Harry’s unable to stop the blush rising on his cheeks.

“So, how’s the business doing?” Bill asks, diverting George’s attention and allowing Harry to resume breathing. _Thank you, Bill,_ Harry thinks — just a moment too soon.

George grins. “Brilliant. It seems everyone’s looking for new ways to brighten up their life nowadays.” He glances at Harry and winks before returning his gaze to his oldest brother. “And with this new triple M line, we’re cornering the adult market, too.”

 _Oh, good Godric._ Harry gets a sudden urge to thump his forehead against the tabletop. How could he ever forget?

Harry _knew_ he’d seen that MMM logo before; the three silver letters embossed on the black box. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ triple W logo, turned upside down, becoming _Magical Mischief Managed_ — George’s new product line for enchanted adult toys.

Harry knows this, because he’s been to the board meetings, he’s seen the business plans. Only available through owl order, they guarantee anonymity for all purchases; a fact that has undoubtedly boosted the sales from day one, according to the figures. Harry’s seen those, too. However, anonymity doesn’t help much when the inventor recognises his own creation in use, does it?

“I always knew it’d be a success,” George continues, “but even so, the demand is exceeding all expectations. Oh, that reminds me…” he adds, turning around and leaning forward to look past Draco, addressing Andromeda who’s in the next seat over, “how’s Teddy’s Pygmy Puff doing?”

_You’re fucking kidding me!_

Yeah, it’s true George got Teddy a Pygmy Puff for his birthday a few months ago, but Harry can swear George didn’t just _happen_ to come to think of that little purple furball now, all of a sudden. Not to mention, that transition? It couldn’t have made the least bit of sense to anyone but George, himself, and…

Harry catches Draco’s gaze over the table, wanting to know if he’s realised they’re busted yet.

“What?” Draco mutters under his breath. Apparently, Harry’s rising panic is written all over his face.

“George knows,” he mouths.

Draco frowns, taking a moment to listen to the Pygmy Puff conversation going on in front of his face. “You really think…?”

Harry nods.

“But… Surely, he can’t possibly…”

That was Harry’s first thought, too, when George uttered the Pygmy Puff intensity level command; that the Invisible Touch should only be able to adhere to Harry’s voice. But, seeing as George is the inventor, Harry is fairly sure the man probably has means to override it.

“ _Anything_ is possible,” Harry mumbles, figuring it’d be the easiest way to test his theory.

By the look of Draco’s widened eyes, Harry assumes his suspicions were true. And now George is sending him an amused look.

 _Fuck_.

George Weasley, the renowned prankster and perpetual troublemaker, not only _knows_ about The Invisible Touch — he knows how to operate it, too.

“It’s a shame he’s still so young,” George says to Andromeda who, thank Merlin, still seems to be unaware of the drama going on right next to her. “Otherwise, I’d given him a Bowtruckle instead. They’re so cute.”

Harry groans. Even if George currently acts as if neither Harry nor Draco is present, he’s definitely messing with them. Because George doesn’t think Bowtruckles are cute. He thinks they’re creepy.

Incidentally, however, _Bowtruckle_ is, Harry recalls, one of the eight additional commands for the deluxe version of The Invisible Touch, used to simulate different types of touch. _Tickle_ , if he remembers correctly.

Harry lifts a questioning eyebrow towards Draco, and Draco bites his lip and nods reassuringly. He still looks a bit uncertain, but his eyes are flaring with arousal. _And he has a safe word if he needs it_ , Harry reminds himself as he sneaks a hand under the table to palm the excited erection twitching in his jeans.

It’s one thing to wonder what it would be like to torture your boyfriend like this, to fantasise about him being totally at your mercy to pleasure and tease to your heart’s delight. It’s a whole other thing to actually be offered the privilege to experience it in real life. Never in a million years would Harry have thought Draco would let him do it — would even encourage him to do it — if only for one day.

Given Draco’s history, it’s impossible to imagine him finding any kind of enjoyment in being controlled, of submitting to another person’s will. Yet, he’s letting Harry play with him, surrendering his body to Harry’s every whim, and Harry is in awe by the show of trust it signifies. His Draco is so brave, so amazing, so incredible for giving himself up like this, for somehow sensing Harry’s deeply buried dreams and then deciding to let him live them out, despite them being both weird and embarrassing and, let’s face it, a bit perverted.

“Blaise?” Harry says, diverting the man’s attention from George’s inane praise of the marvel that is the Bowtruckle. “Has Draco always been as ticklish?”

“Well…” Blaise glances in Draco’s direction and suppresses a smirk. “Yeah. More or less.”

“It’s a shame I never knew about that when we were at school. Right, Draco? If I’d known, I could’ve brought you to your knees as easy as anything.”

Draco shudders as if a colony of ants just hurried up his spine and Harry smiles smugly at his defiant glare.

George should have been a Slytherin, Harry decides a moment later when the mischievous man appears to decide the test run is over. They’ve been given enough chances to object to his meddling, and instead of signalling for him to stop, they’ve continued using the trigger word several times after George joined in on their secret doings.

And suddenly it’s a challenge for Harry to keep up. An exhilarating challenge, true, but a challenge nonetheless. Up till now, Harry’s main game has been to find new creative ways to weave the trigger word into as many innocuous sentences as possible while still making sense in the ongoing conversations, and to keep a straight face while doing it — including hiding his raging arousal as best he can. Now though, there’s the added element of about a dozen additional voice commands and a highly unpredictable George, who is not only devious when he wants to be, but quick-witted and creative beyond comparison.

It’s lucky all those silly voice commands are fairly self-explanatory because, since Harry didn’t plan to use any of them but his own trigger word, he never cared to memorise them before they left for the Burrow. Nonetheless, it’s a veritable obstacle course to navigate the following conversation around the table, making sure find a way to casually drop the trigger word whenever a more pleasurable touch mode is active, while simultaneously manage to steer away whenever George happens to mention any of the nastier ones to whoever he’s talking to at the time.

He’s never been more grateful for deciding to stay away from alcohol for the day, or he wouldn’t have been able to manage it. Especially since a majority of the blood supposed to supply his brain with oxygen is constantly rushing in the other direction, to his other head currently leaking pre-come in his pants. He finally lets go of his last concerns as he realises George deliberately leaves it to Harry to call the shots, letting him decide when to trigger and when not to, simply offering Harry a broad variety of choices while carefully staying away from the trigger word himself.

The others around the table don’t know to stay away from the trigger word, though. And even if The Invisible Touch only listens to him and George — _thank Godric_ — Harry soon notices Draco tensing up whenever someone says ‘anything’, preparing for a sensation that never comes. The first time it happens, Draco is talking to Andromeda as George starts talking Quidditch with Fleur, lauding her for eluding the Bludger ( _punch_ ) he sent her way as she was approaching the goalposts about forty minutes into the game. Harry is admiring the gorgeous rosy blush on Draco’s cheeks, nodding along to something Charlie is saying as Draco straightens in his seat, clenching his jaw. Blaise was the culprit that time, unknowingly making his friend stiffen by mentioning the trigger word in a conversation with Hermione.

Harry never subjects Draco to the punch, and he barely manages to avoid Incendio ( _burn_ ) and the Whomping Willow ( _whip_ ) too. The only less pleasant modes he dares try out are Vampire ( _bite_ ) and Kneazle ( _scratch_ ), and that’s only because the intensity level is set on _Quill_ at the time. He revels in his boyfriend’s reaction to the Gillyweed command ( _lick_ ), though, and he’s fairly sure Draco would’ve cursed him to the end of the earth by that point if it hadn’t been for his aunt sitting right next to him.

“No offence, Bill,” George says to his older brother sometime later, “but there’s nothing worse than getting stuck in a Devil’s Snare. Isn’t it Ronnikins?” he adds with a chuckle, raising his voice to be heard over the chatter from the other end of the table.

“Oh, sod off,” Ron retorts while Harry’s brain sounds the alarm for another incoming voice command. Devil’s Snare. _‘For a tight squeeze,’_ the instructions wizard had called it, the second-highest intensity level.

Harry turns to George, ignoring Draco’s attempt to catch his gaze. “Nothing worse? Surely, there are plenty of things worse than an encounter with a silly plant.”

“Well,” George frowns, bright blue eyes dancing, “Yeah, I guess there might be. Any suggestions? A Dementor maybe?”

“Maybe,” Harry smirks, intrigued by the idea put forth by the man. _Sucking_. At that intensity…

 _Damn_.

Draco kicks him in the shin, demanding his attention, and when Harry looks his way, he’s met by an intense glower.

“What?” Harry says, fighting to hold back a smile. “I didn’t say anything.”

Draco gasps, involuntarily tilting his head back and exposing his long elegant neck to Harry’s hungry eyes. Mesmerised, Harry watches the Adam’s apple move under Draco’s porcelain skin as the man swallows and the sight does wicked things to Harry’s cock. There’s no chance he’ll be able to continue this for much longer or he’ll come untouched in his pants.

Here.

At the Burrow.

Surrounded by everyone.

 _Fuck_.

He’s already planning their imminent escape, but before they need to leave, Harry craves one final taste of this glorious moment. If this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, he wants to savour it for as long as humanly possible.

He feigns a worried frown. “Anything the matter, dear?”

Draco’s jaw clenches and his eyes scrunch closed, but he shakes his head. “No.”

_Merlin, but he’s persistent. And so, so perfect. Merlin…_

“You sure?” Harry asks, his heart swelling with pride for his boyfriend. If it were him, he would’ve surrendered a long time ago. “You’d tell me if it was, right?”

“Yeah,” Draco manages, taking a deep calming breath. “Yeah, I would.”

“Because…” Harry gives him a fond smile. “…you know you can tell me anything, love. Anything at all…”

“I—” Draco groans, hunching over. “I feel like… like I’ve eaten an entire… Hippogriff.”


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

_16.12 pm_

* * *

“Oh fuck, Draco,” Harry growls as he walks his boyfriend backwards, steering him towards the bed. “You’re so fucking incredible, I can’t even…”

Harry buries his nose in the curve of Draco’s neck, inhaling the glorious scent of him, a scent he can never get enough of. Draco’s fresh, lemony cologne is mingled with the salty-sweet taste that is uniquely Draco, brought forth by the slight sheen of perspiration The Invisible Touch has provoked. That _Harry_ has provoked. Harry moans at the thought, licking, nibbling, and kissing his way over Draco’s delicious skin, nuzzling the tip of his nose in the hollow under Draco’s jaw, whispering nonsensical words of praise and appreciation in his ear until Draco’s thighs bump into the bed.

Now that they’re finally alone, when Draco is finally within reach, Harry can’t take his hands off him, grabbing, stroking, roaming over every inch of his boyfriend’s perfect body, finally able to touch him for real after hours of teasing from afar. Bracing himself with a knee on the mattress beside Draco’s hip, he presses on, laying Draco down on his back against the sky-blue duvet. His lips are firmly connected to Draco’s as he follows him up on the bed, kissing him deeply, hungrily, as he straddles Draco’s thighs and hovers over him.

“Merlin, I can’t believe we did that,” Harry says, breathless against Draco’s flushed cheek, his closed lids, his damp forehead. “I can’t believe you let me do that. So amazing, so hot, so fucking hot, Draco, you have no idea…”

“I do,” Draco breathes, clutching the fabric of Harry’s jumper tighter, whining as Harry thrusts his raging hard cock against Draco’s. “Fuck, Harry, I do.”

“You do?” Harry draws back and rises on straight arms to look into lust-blown eyes.

“Mm-hmm…” Draco murmurs and Harry gasps as eager hands sneak under the hem of his jumper and glides over taut abs, venturing up his torso, pinching his nipples and tugging lightly at the dark curls of hair sprinkled over his chest. “There’s nothing sexier than you taking control.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s fairly sure that’s not true, but he doesn’t bother to correct him. He’s much too busy trying to distract himself from the idea of Draco liking… wanting… Damn, but Draco’s tiny dress-shirt buttons have never been this uncooperative before. “I wouldn’t think you’d appreciate losing control, considering—”

“But that’s just it, Harry. I wouldn’t _lose_ it. I would _give_ it to you. Voluntarily.”

Harry stills, looking up to meet Draco’s heated gaze. “You would?”

“Yeah. The look you get in your eyes sometimes, I— Fuck, Harry, I just want you to ravage me like the ferocious lion I know you are.”

“Fu-uck,” Harry growls, ripping Draco’s posh shirt open, making those ridiculously small buttons sprinkle the floor as his last traces of patience are suddenly vanquished by a roaring pride of feral urges.

“Fuck,” Draco gasps, eyes widening in surprise.

Harry sobers in a heartbeat. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

The apology is brusquely interrupted by the sight of Draco rolling his eyes.

“Harry,” he says. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a shirt.” Draco’s frustration is palpable, yet his voice is calm and comforting, his hands gentle and reassuring on Harry’s thighs as he continues. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you; that I don’t mind it. That I might even want it. You think I haven’t noticed how much you’re holding back, how carefully you keep that lion caged at all times for fear of what he’d do if you ever let him out to play?”

“I—” Harry’s at a loss, confused and embarrassed. “It’s not that important. I don’t—”

“But it is,” Draco insists. “It _is_ important. Because I want you to be able to be yourself with me, Harry. I want you to be comfortable enough with me that you can ask for things that you want. I know you’re not used to voicing your wishes, that you’ve grown up believing you weren’t allowed to ask for things — but you are. I want you to.”

Harry can feel the heat colouring his cheeks. “But, I don’t need—”

“What if _I_ do?” Draco cuts him off. “What if _I_ need it? What if I _want_ you to be rough with me when you feel like it, Harry? What if I _liked_ it if you were? Don’t be afraid you would hurt me, I can defend myself if need be. Bury your fingers in my hair when I suck you off, force your cock down my throat and make me gag. Tug my hair and grab me hard enough to bruise. Suck my skin hard enough to leave love bites so I can show the world that I’m yours. Tie me up and have your way with me. I don’t mind. I want you to.”

“But…” Harry can’t believe his ears. His head is swimming with the images conjured by Draco’s words, by the sight of Draco’s eyes, dark with arousal, as they look up at him, pleading. Harry frowns. It doesn’t make sense. “But I thought you didn’t…? Look. You told me about Blaise’s birthday present, about how you let him tie you up to realise his fantasy even though you didn’t share it…”

“Actually,” Draco says, an amused smirk playing on his kiss-swollen lips, “I may have liked it more than I thought I would. And I really like the thought of doing it with you. I trust you, Harry, and that makes it easy for me to let you do it. I know you love me and that you’d never let me get hurt.”

“Oh, Draco.” Harry leans in to leave a trail of featherlight kisses along his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, his chest. “I would never hurt you, love. Never. You’re much too precious. So perfect. So amazing. I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve you.”

Draco moans, writhing underneath Harry’s lips, arching off the bed to meet his exploring tongue, whimpering at the brush of Harry’s hard cock against his own. Harry hastens to relieve Draco of his trousers and pants, urged on by the craving of getting inside him, of melting into him, of feeling his walls pulse all around him.

The lube is still on the bedside table from last night and as Harry coats his fingers with it, his eyes are caught by the glint of silver hiding in Draco’s golden curls, the band still encircling his cock. _Fuck_. Harry had all but forgotten about The Invisible Touch after they got back. Now, though, the memories rush back with a vengeance as Draco eagerly spreads his legs wide, pulling them up against his sides with his hands under his knees, waiting for Harry’s fingers to enter him, to stretch him, to prepare him.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry murmurs, watching Draco’s arse clench in anticipation when Harry’s slick fingers move lightly over the rim. “Gorgeous,” he breathes reverently. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Draco shudders and keens as Harry’s finger slides into his hot hungry hole, gliding effortlessly through his tight opening and burying itself between his clenching silky-smooth walls. “More,” he pleads.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, not wanting to risk going too fast but so, so turned on. By the sight of Draco spread out before him. By the thought of what he’s said. By the memories of what he let Harry do. “You want more?”

“Yesss.” Draco’s arse squeezes around Harry’s finger, sucking him in, hugging him tight. “More.”

“You’re so greedy,” Harry marvels, fascinated by his boyfriend’s eagerness. “So hot, so good, and so, so greedy.”

Draco whimpers and Harry rewards him with a second finger alongside the first, fucking Draco’s hole while watching the raw emotion taking over his features. Harry loves watching Draco in this state when his carefully built-up walls fall away and Harry is allowed to see all of him. Draco has lived a lifetime learning to hide his feelings, to show nothing but indifference and control. No one is aware of how far from the truth that image really is, how different he is like this, how expressive, how vulnerable, how lovable. No one knows. No one but Harry.

If they did, they’d see the insecure boy hiding beneath that façade. They’d see the son of a strict father, a father who always expected more from him, who was all but impossible to please but oh so easy to disappoint. They’d see the man he’s become because of it, a man struggling with low self-esteem, performance anxiety, and perfectionism. They’d see a man starved for approval, for praise, for affirmation.

“Did you like The Invisible Touch?” Harry asks, one fist moving slowly around Draco’s cock as he adds a third finger to the ones already in his arse. Nodding, Draco sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and tilts his head back, emitting a delicious moan that makes Harry’s cock throb. “Did you like me touching you with my words, driving you to the brink with nothing but my voice?”

“Yes,” Draco pants, thrusting his hips up to meet Harry’s fist, fucking himself on Harry’s fingers. “Oh Merlin, yes.”

“Me too,” Harry says. “I fucking loved watching you being touched like that. I loved seeing the heat in your eyes, blazing like wildfire as you tried not to give away our secret. I’ve been hard and aching to shag you for hours, seriously contemplating hauling you away around a corner to fuck you senseless against the nearest surface I could find.”

“Then why are you still talking?” Draco groans. “Just fuck me already.”

“So greedy,” Harry smirks, “and so fucking perfect.”

“Harry, why are you…”

At the sound of Draco’s high-pitched whimper, Harry relents. “Because I still have things to say.”

“You can tell me later,” Draco says through gritted teeth, keening when Harry’s fingertips brush over his prostate once, and again, and again…

“I could. But I’d rather tell you now.” Harry chuckles as Draco curses and bangs the back of his head against the pillow, exasperated. “I want you to know…” Harry murmurs against Draco’s smooth skin, pausing to place hot wet kisses everywhere he can reach — on the inside of his thighs, on his stomach, his chest, his chin, his cheekbones, his forehead, the tip of his nose — as he continues. “…how much I love you for giving me that gift; for giving me that amazing experience; for submitting so beautifully; for accepting me with all my flaws; for just being you.”

Harry stops to look deep into those warm grey eyes, supporting himself on his elbow next to Draco’s head. “I love you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning down to kiss those delicious lips. “Now, turn around and let me fuck you,” he adds with a smirk, withdrawing his fingers from Draco’s arse and sitting back on his heels to finally free his own cock from tight denim and damp cotton.

“Fucking finally,” Draco grumbles but readily obliges, kneeling on the mattress and supporting himself on his elbows before Harry’s even unzipped his fly.

Though it’s still covered by the remnants of Draco’s posh shirt, Harry hungrily follows the elegant curve of Draco’s spine with his gaze as he tugs jeans and pants down his thighs. At the nape, Draco’s platinum-blond hair lies curled and darkened by sweat against the collar. Over his broad shoulders and lean torso, the silky fabric is damp and wrinkled, probably ruined forever. _It doesn’t matter, it’s just a shirt_ , Draco’s voice echoes in his head. Harry knows for a fact that this was Draco’s favourite shirt, the pale blue one that Narcissa sent him from France for his birthday, the one that complements his eyes so perfectly. _I don’t mind_ , he’d said.

Reverently, Harry spreads his hands over Draco’s round arse cheeks, squeezing them gently before moving over Draco’s back, pushing up the shirt against Draco’s armpits, exposing flawless porcelain skin.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Harry says, placing a soft kiss on Draco’s tailbone.

Draco moans, sucking up the praise like a dry sponge even as he growls, “Yeah, yeah, I’m spectacular. Now, fuck me already, you sappy sod.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Chuckling, Harry sits up and strokes his cock slick with lube. Guiding it to Draco’s waiting hole, he lets the leaking head settle against Draco’s rim before gripping Draco’s hips. _Hard enough to bruise_ , Draco’s voice suggests.

“Are you ready?” Harry says, heart beating wildly in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears.

“Yes! For fuck’s sake, Potter, just—”

Hearing his last name from Draco’s lips ignites the ferocity within him again. And this time, Harry does it. He releases the lion from its cage, letting it run free, roaring. He enters Draco in one swift thrust, plunging into him while simultaneously pulling Draco’s hips towards him, revelling in the slapping sound of flesh meeting flesh, in Draco’s surprised gasp, in the feeling of Draco’s tight arse pressing around his rock-hard cock.

“Fuck,” Harry moans, “You’re so fucking tight, you feel so fucking good, so fucking perfect.”

“Yes,” Draco hisses, “Fuck, yes. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

Harry can’t say what his boyfriend craves the most, the pounding or the praise. Maybe it’s both. Not that it matters, because Harry doesn’t want to stop, neither the pounding nor the praise. He wants to give Draco both. He wants to give Draco everything.

“You like that, huh?” Harry says, pulling out slowly only to slam all the way back in. Draco whines and nods, trembling under Harry’s hands. “You like it when I fuck you like this?” Harry asks as he pulls out again, just as slowly, before thrusting back in. Draco nods once more, lifting his forehead from his hands to let out a strained grunt. “What’s that?” Harry teases, desperately clinging to the verbal exchange to distract himself from the immense pleasure of Draco’s tight heat. “I know words can be hard sometimes, but I have faith in you…” His cock is almost slipping out of Draco’s arse every time he draws back, but it’s worth it, just to be able to savour the feeling of yet another thorough thrust. “Now tell me. You like it?”

“Yesss…”

“You like it when I fuck you like this, sweetheart?”

“Yesss…”

“Hard?” Harry adds, accentuating the word with another forceful pounding, “Rough?” and another.

“Yesss…”

Harry smirks. “Good boy,” he compliments, timing his praise with his thrusts. “Such. A. Good. Boy.”

Draco moans, arching his back and tilting his head far enough towards the ceiling for Harry to catch sight of his blissed-out face. _Tug my hair_ , Draco’s voice rings in Harry’s head. _Later_ , Harry promises, both hands busy on Draco’s hips, commanding the pace, guiding Draco’s arse back and forth over his throbbing cock. His head is swimming with the exhilaration of not having to hold back, of being allowed to run free.

“Merlin, look at you,” Harry coos. “Just taking it… so beautifully… wanting it… needing it… loving it.”

“Fu-uck,” Draco groans and the following whimper rushes over Harry’s skin like a shower of pure pleasure, making him shudder with a fresh bout of arousal.

“You’re so amazing, sweetheart,” Harry breathes in awe. “So beautiful… so strong… so brilliant…”

“More,” Draco pleads, thrusting back against Harry, fucking himself on Harry’s cock. “Faster. Harder. More.”

Harry’s inner lion roars — _Closer. Deeper. Mine._ — urging Harry to claim his boyfriend fully. And Harry doesn’t have to hold back. He’s allowed to… _Merlin_.

“Come here,” he growls, grabbing Draco’s ruined shirt and hauling him from the pillow to sit upright, straddling Harry’s thighs with his back pressed against Harry’s chest. Harry’s hands roam over Draco’s sweat-slicked skin, tweaking his nipples, stroking his sides, tugging at the golden curls surrounding his leaking cock. “So brave,” he murmurs against Draco’s skin as he nuzzles his neck, nibbles his earlobe. “So determined… so gorgeous…”

Draco lets out a throaty moan and leans his head back to rest on Harry’s shoulder, exposing his neck to Harry’s mouth, his lips, his tongue, his teeth. “Fuck me,” Draco whines, rolling his hips and clenching around Harry’s erection.

“Do it yourself,” Harry whispers in Draco’s ear. “Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart.”

And Draco does. So beautifully. So desperately. Panting and moaning and grunting as he lifts up and bears down on Harry’s raging hard-on, again and again and again. Seeking leverage, Harry slides his hands up Draco’s chest to grab at his shoulders before thrusting to meet Draco’s greedy arse, adjusting to his chosen pace and wishing he’d be able to go on like this forever.

“Fuck,” Harry pants, “You feel… so good… so tight… so—”

“Yesss,” Draco hisses, gripping Harry’s hip with one hand while burying the other in Harry’s unruly hair. “More. I need…”

And this time, Harry knows Draco’s yearning for the praise rather than anything else.

“You want more?” he asks, leaning down to kiss the salty skin at the curve of Draco’s neck. _Suck my skin hard enough to leave love bites_ , Draco’s voice whispers in Harry’s mind, _so I can show the world that I’m yours_. “Want me to… praise you… sweetheart?” Harry grunts and Draco’s only answer is a whine. “You want me… to say you’re… good enough? Smart enough? That you’re… worthy?” Draco whimpers and clutches Harry’s hip harder. “Because you are, sweetheart. You are. You’re so good… so clever… so fierce…”

Never losing the rhythm of their thrusts, his affirmations, Harry releases one of Draco’s shoulders to move his hand down Draco’s torso, towards golden curls, towards heavy balls and leaking cock.

“…loyal… resilient… witty…”

Harry is so close, soon powerless to hold back his orgasm any longer. But he wants Draco to come first, can’t comprehend why he hasn’t already…

“…sexy… cute… sweet…”

…until his fingers brush over a band of metal hidden among the curls. At Harry’s touch, the band expands, losing its hold over Draco’s cock…

“…caring… worthy… mine…”

…and allowing Draco to finally come.

“Fu-uck,” Harry moans, delirious with the sound of Draco’s cry, the heat spilling over his hand, the pulsating walls around his cock. When Harry comes, only moments after his lover, it seems to go on forever, vanishing his last coherent thoughts as he shoots spurt after spurt of slick come deep inside Draco’s arse.

When they come to, Draco is resting in Harry’s arms, cuddled up against him, looking soft and happy and bloody adorable. Harry brushes platinum-blond locks from sleepy grey eyes and presses a gentle kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you for being so amazing, for knowing me so well, for making all my dreams come true.”

“You’re welcome,” Draco smirks.

Harry strokes light fingertips over Draco’s rosy cheek, brushes the pad of his thumb along Draco’s cheekbone. “I can’t believe Blaise ever let you go. I might need to thank him properly one day.”

“You should,” Draco agrees, “he gave up a lot that night.”

“Any ideas? You know him better than I do.”

“Hmm,” Draco muses, “come to think of it, I might actually have an idea.”

Draco goes silent, frowning slightly as his hand moves idly over Harry’s chest.

“And…?”

“I really didn’t think he still… But after today…”

“What?”

“Well, did you notice anything special about him today?” Draco asks. Harry hums, thinking back to the afternoon at the Burrow but coming up empty. “Come on, he _was_ being rather obvious — at least for a Slytherin. Embarrassing, really…”

Harry chuckles when the Sickle finally drops. “You mean with George? Yeah, what was that all about?”

“Er, how shall I put it?” Draco purses his lips that way he always does when he searches for the right words. Adorable. “When we were younger, Blaise was the prankster of Slytherin House. He always looked up to the Weasley twins and thought they were the coolest kids in school.”

“What!?” Harry bursts into a bout of laughter at the idea of the snooty Slytherin Blaise Zabini secretly idolising the frivolous kings of Gryffindor Tower. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Draco says. “However, I’m not. The dolt always dreamt about being like them, but was never bold or brave enough to actually do anything remotely like the crazy things they did.”

Harry blinks. “You’re actually serious?”

“I am.” The hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of Draco’s mouth. “And what’s more, I can attest he used to have quite a huge crush on them for several years before they left school.”

“Noooooo…” Harry gapes, gobsmacked.

“Yesssss…” Draco grins. “Why do you think he aspired to become a Beater?”

“And you’re saying he might still carry a torch for George?”

“If you’d asked me yesterday, I would’ve said no. But I’m not so sure about that anymore.”

“Fuck.” Harry looks up to the ceiling, trying to make sense of his reeling mind. It’s hard, though, since most of it is still mush after that mind-blowing orgasm. “So, Blaise and George, huh?”

“Blaise and George,” Draco agrees, stifling a yawn.

“Okay, let’s get right on that…” Draco’s yawns are terribly contagious. “…later.”

“Later,” Draco murmurs into Harry’s chest, snuggling closer.

Harry wraps his arms tighter around his boyfriend, placing another soft kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, my love” he whispers. “Thank you for everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have already guessed, I do have the first traces of a third instalment already brewing in the back of my head for this Drarry-verse. It may take a while before I have time to write it, but if you only bear with me (and, preferably, subscribe to this series) I’ll give it to you sooner or later.
> 
> I love and cherish any and all feedback you’re willing to give me — kudos, comments and recommendations are my primary life sources.
> 
> For more interaction, please find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drarrelie)


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